Chapter 11
It seemed almost laughable to Aragorn that, after everything they'd been through, after Caradhras, after Moria, after a Balrog, the quest was likely to end due to Boromir's brother.
Somehow, Faramir had convinced him to allow his men to blindfold the company and take them to some form of concealed cave. None of the company had any idea where they were, and Faramir had neglected to explain anything in the few minutes that he had appeared. Similarly, the company had been forced to surrender their weapons. Some were understandably more reluctant than others.
"You look troubled, lad," Gimli finally interrupted Aragorn's thoughts.
Aragorn nodded. "It's just... maddening that after everything, this quest is going to fail due to people that, should the time have been right, I would-"
"You come from Rivendell, correct?"
Faramir had just returned.
"How would you know?" asked Aragorn, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice, a shadow of the frustration he was feeling creeping into his tone.
"I believe I mentioned that Boromir was my brother. He went to Rivendell to seek the answer to a riddle that came to both of us. He would not have gone anywhere else, and if he had hypothetically joined a rag-tag bunch of misfits to go on some quest, he would have departed from Rivendell with them. Now answer me: am I right?"
Aragorn reluctantly nodded.
"You know, I went to Rivendell once," Faramir continued. "When I was very young. It was on some form of diplomatic meeting, the details concerning exactly why we were there were never of any interest to me. But I remember the visit clearly. I was awed by Lord Elrond's house. I would spend hours in the library, studying Gondor's history. Lord Elrond even, at one point, showed me the shards of Narsil."
Aragorn tensed.
"I saw, with my own eyes, the shards of the sword that cut the One Ring from the Dark Lord's hand. I memorised every detail – every little carving on the blade, every vein of silver that detailed the hilt. And I promised myself that I would never forget it."
Aragorn raised a single eyebrow at Faramir.
"Now I've just seen something very interesting. I've just been inspecting what kind of weaponry 'travellers in Ithillien' carry, and I pulled a blade from a sheath, and I recognised it. It was Narsil, re-forged. And yet, when I saw it in Rivendell, it was broken, which means it must have been re-forged for you."
A brief look of horror flashed across Aragorn's face.
"But my understanding of Lord Elrond is that he would not re-forge what must be the most famous blade ever to grace Middle-Earth for anyone, not the Steward of Gondor, and certainly not for a mere ranger from the North, which means one of two things. Either you stole it, or... there is more to you than meets the eye, and more chapters of your story that you have neglected to even mention. Now tell me – who are you?"
Aragorn sighed. He could not deny that the game was up.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You were right, Lord Elrond re-forged the blade for me before we set out on this quest. And you were also right about the fact that there is more to my story than what I have told you. I am heir to the throne of Gondor. But I have not come to take my place on the throne just yet. I will, should I survive, once this quest is over and we have gone into a new age of Middle Earth, for better or for worse."
"That is a big claim..." Faramir hissed. "One that I am yet to believe. Yet Narsil has returned to Gondor. The blade that cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand has returned to its home, along with Isildur's-"
He stopped abruptly, suddenly realising something.
"Isildur's bane..." he breathed. "It can't be..."
Aragorn opened his mouth to ask what was going on, before Faramir leapt back, away from the group.
"No!" he yelled. "No, it cannot be here. I will not have it in Gondor!"
"Have what in Gondor?" Aragorn asked.
"Isildur's bane... Is it not-"
"Not what?" Aragorn asked defensively. "Not what, pray?"
Faramir's eyes were wide. "The One Ring..." he breathed.
"What?" Aragorn was shocked that Faramir had worked it out.
"It is, is it not?" Faramir hissed.
Aragorn's silence was as good as a confirmation.
"No!" Faramir yelled. "I will not have it here in Gondor! I will not have the danger it brings with it come to my home! It has already claimed one of my friends, it will not claim more!"
"Faramir-"
"Oh, but this explains why my brother has been ostracised from your little group! He would have tried to take it, but you were not happy with this, so you threw him out into the wilds, to find his own way home!"
"I-"
"You will leave Gondor. You will not cross our borders again. I will not have the safety of my home jeopardised for the sake of some foolish elf mission!"
Aragorn was stunned. This was not how he had expected Faramir to react.
"Faramir, I promise you, we mean no harm to you or your people-"
"You have come to me reporting the death of someone who was very close to me, you make a claim that would usurp my father which I am yet to see if you deserve it, and you bring with you the most powerful thing in all of Middle Earth save the one who resides in the Dark Tower himself – now give me one good reason why I should let any of you pass!"
Aragorn drew himself up to his full height. "Because I am the rightful king of this land," Aragorn muttered quietly, but his voice carried all the authority of his title. "And although I may not be crowned yet, I can still command anyone in this realm. Now you will let us pass."
Faramir stood up, so his eyes were level with Aragorn's.
"My brother may have been ready to believe your lies," he answered in the same tone as Aragorn. "But I do not trust you – at all. You are not my king."